


Marry Me

by ChippewaFalls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Plot Twists, Romance, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28155615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChippewaFalls/pseuds/ChippewaFalls
Summary: A short and sweet one-shot of Rose Granger-Weasley's wedding day, complete with sappy plot twist!
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley
Kudos: 17





	Marry Me

_< You still have time. You can still get out of this. >_

The thought barely finishes as I continue adjusting my cufflinks. 

Finding it harder and harder to catch my breath, I pull at the tie around my neck and let it dangle there, partially untucked from under its place behind my vest. Then I rest my hands on the ledge and stare at the pair of gray eyes in the mirror before me. 

They plead with me to pull myself together; urge me to take a deep breath and do the right thing. And they’re right. I am better than this. I don’t need to run - I just need to see her. That would put it all back into perspective. One glance at her smile and I would be content. 

Finding solace in the fact that the day wasn’t about me, I stand back to my full height and start to maneuver the fabric so it once again wraps around my collar before tucking it back into place. 

“There you are!” Albus pokes his head around the corner, “We’re to start any minute now! I thought for sure you were making a run for it.”

“The thought did cross my mind…” 

I mutter before double-checking that I have my cufflinks on correctly. 

“Whoa - okay I was just taking the piss.” He holds his hands out as if to stop me from physically trying to pass him even though I’m not making any such attempt. “Here…”

He pulls out a flask from inside his jacket pocket and I silently scold myself for not thinking far enough ahead to have my own. The whiskey burns down my throat, but it does manage to calm my nerves a bit.

She’d spent too many days dreaming of this day. Too many hours pouring over magnolias and peonies. I’m determined to make sure that this day, for her, is absolutely perfect. 

We couldn’t have been more than eight the first time she described her wedding day to me. She was adamant about having it in the country somewhere, ‘away from the noise of London’ she’d said. 

_“And what if your intended disagrees? Doesn’t he get a say?”_

****

_She giggled at the thought, “Weddings aren’t about the boy, Scorpius.”_

Nothing annoyed Albus more than how well I got on with his cousin, but no amount of teasing could’ve kept me away from her. It seemed the moment we’d met we could never be parted from one another. 

Then again, being kids in love is different than young adults with choices to make; with the reality of forever actually before you.  
  


  
“Let’s do this then.”

I take another gulp of liquor before leaving the flask on the ledge and rounding the corner. I think I know where I’m going, but the hall is a maze of corridors. Finally, I find the door to the chapel foyer, 

“Wait, mate - that’s not -”

But before his warning can be useful, I discover that the door didn’t lead to the chapel on my own. Instead of an empty lobby, I’m met by four women in matching chiffon dresses gasping in my direction.

“Scorpius?!” 

I’m not sure how to take the surprise in her voice. Obviously I’m supposed to be here, but I can almost swear I hear a note of relief in her tone. Then again, once I catch sight of her, her tone is far from my mind. Before her alarm, she’d been slowly swaying, smiling at the way the fabric seemed to float in the self-created breeze. 

_“Lace. White...Maybe ivory - but definitely flowy. I need to be able to twirl.”_

_We were seventeen again, talking about this day like it was an inevitability. She held my hand above her head before spinning in circles to emphasize her point._

“You’re so beautiful, Rose.”

I’d spoken those words to her so many times before, but we both knew, our eyes meeting in the mirror she stood before, that this moment was different. 

I want to say so much more to her. More sentences I’d said before without fully understanding their gravity, but I don’t. I know how long she’s waited for this day. I know how much she wants to get married. 

And no matter how much it hurts to remind myself, she isn’t getting married to me. 

So instead I swallow the words. I swallow my feelings.

I let Lily wave us out of the room, chastising Albus for not being with the rest of the groomsmen. 

I follow Albus to the correct door and take a seat in the back of the chapel while he makes his way to the line of sharply dressed men standing at the altar. 

I pick a spot on the floor to stare at instead of meeting anyone’s eye. 

And then I hear a low voice bickering with someone else over the flower placement on his lapel. Hoping it will distract me from my panic, I lean back in the pew to see out the crack of the two doors and try to place the voices. It’s as bad a mistake as showing up in the first place. 

Her parents are tittering back and forth as they always had done. 

“Isn’t that all a bit old fashioned though? Having him give you away like they’re transferring property?”

“Quit ruining hundreds of years of tradition! You’re just picking on it because you don’t think my father wouldn’t actually let go.”

“You’ve seen the way he looks at me at dinner, love. Our luck, he’d walk you down the aisle and then break into a full sprint until he’d torn you far enough away to finally separate us.”

The symbolism of that tradition is more than I can reconcile in my state. Ron wouldn’t be the only man giving her away today.

It’s all too much. It’s all such a mistake. Leaving. Coming back. Accepting the invitation. Showing up this afternoon. So many chances to get things right and at every opportunity I somehow managed to travel the wrong path. 

Before I can argue myself back into the pew I’m in the foyer, pushing passed her parents. Then, I’m back into the maze of corridors and alcoves, twisting and turning until I find a way out to the gardens. 

In the end I take refuge on a marble bench, tucked behind the tallest hedge I can spot.

Trying to push the melodies from strings and piano keys out of mind. Trying to persuade myself to believe that if she was able to move on, able to find love again, that I can too. 

Attempting to convince myself that she isn’t standing in front of me, her tears pulling at her mascara...but there she stood,

“Turns out the wedding is all about the boy…”


End file.
